


Art Block

by gongji



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Awkward Seduction, Biting, First Time, M/M, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 04:39:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12741186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gongji/pseuds/gongji
Summary: Akira rushes to Yusuke’s side following a plea for help, only to find that the situation is very different from what he imagined. Things quickly spiral out of Yusuke’s control and suddenly art is the last thing on his mind.





	Art Block

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a commission.

“I need help. It’s an emergency,” came the text, and Akira was at Yusuke’s doorstep immediately, nearly breaking down the door with a swift kick before remembering he could very well just open it the normal way (it  _ was _ a school building, after all, and Morgana was quick to frantically remind him not to draw any suspicion towards himself, not with the Phantom Thieves gaining notoriety and all). 

“What’s wrong?” Akira pants as he bursts in, frantic and worried and catching his breath, “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

“Akira,” Yusuke grips his forearm, hanging his head, expression twisted in such a way that suggested such overwhelming pain and agony, that something so strikingly disastrous had just occurred, and it was all over for him as he knew it. “It’s… it’s terrible. It’s awful. I need your help, you were the only one I thought to call and--”

“Tell me,” Akira interrupts him and approaches with uncertainty - unsettled, attempting to find an appropriately calm demeanor to best handle the situation, “Tell me what happened.”

“I… I have…” Yusuke pauses, pained, squeezing his eyes shut, and Akira braces himself for the impact.

“ _ Art block. _ ”

…. _ Huh _ ?

And that was how Akira ended up in Yusuke’s dorm room, uncomfortably holding a near-impossible pose angled halfway off the bed and watching Yusuke sketch away across the room. Perhaps he’d been too hasty to jump to such a conclusion earlier - if Yusuke had truly been in life-threatening danger, he would have told him so. An ‘emergency’ could really have been anything - technically, a clogged toilet could be considered an emergency (especially after the one time Ryuji used the Leblanc toilet after Sojiro’s new spicy curry was just a bit  _ too _ spicy…). Morgana had trotted off once he’d determined Yusuke was in no mortal pain, deciding that sitting around watching Akira literally bend over backwards for Yusuke wasn’t interesting enough. They’d reconvene later, he said, when all had been said and done. 

Careful not to ruin the exact placement Yusuke had placed the front bangs of his hair to frame his expression, Akira’s gaze sets on Yusuke’s wrist, with every stroke of his pencil drawing him in more and more, every fluid motion with every line mesmerizing - almost hypnotic. Yusuke hums, bringing the pencil to his mouth, and tapping his bottom lip twice in thought, eyes darting back and forth between his sketch and Akira’s flexible pose. His gaze hovers a bit, quietly pondering, and then goes back to his sketch.

And this is the moment where Akira’s mind wanders; indecent lecherous thoughts that have less to do about art and more to do about Yusuke’s slender wrist working to pump him in places that shouldn’t feel as tight as they do right now. Truly unfortunate timing, Akira thinks, because there really wasn’t much to hide behind and if Yusuke decided to look up at the right place and at the right time, he’d have a much bigger problem than the horribly stiff neck he’ll have after later holding this pose for all this time. And unfortunately still, the porn that he’d watched that night ( _ What? He was having trouble sleeping! _ ) just happened to be way too similar to his situation than he was comfortable with, and --  _ uh oh _ \-- if he wasn’t already, he was now  _ unbearably horny _ .

But it’s as if the very gods themselves heard his indecent thinking, because Yusuke looks up, catching his gaze, and Akira’s breath catches in the back of his throat. “Akira,” he says finally, voice hoarse from temporary disuse. “Would you please take off your jacket?” 

“My jacket?” Akira repeats, like a part of him felt like he didn’t hear him correctly. 

“Yes…” Yusuke trails off, “I’m finding it difficult to sketch, and I think perhaps I would benefit from its exclusion.” Akira only nods, not really understanding but starting to take off his jacket anyway, and Yusuke stops him just as he moves to pull it from his arms. “Wait, hold that. Yes, just like that. Ah, the aesthetic of the half-removed jacket… let’s see…” Yusuke goes back to sketching, movements quick and skilled, and Akira’s gaze settles itself comfortably back on his hands. 

“Hmm, not quite.” Yusuke sits back, still visibly unhappy with his work, expression twisting. “Akira, please remove your pants.”

“What?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. If that makes you uncomfortable, I’d settle with just an open zipper. Button, too. And would you make it so that they look obviously open? From this angle it may be hard to tell.” 

_ Well, here goes nothing. _

Akira does, slowly, and Yusuke notices the way he glances over at him, holding eye contact until Yusuke looks away.  _ Akira is unzipping his pants on his bed,  _ he thinks, and then shakes his head to rid himself of the thoughts before they went any further. He swallows, and then gets back to work.

But Yusuke doesn’t get very far -- in fact, he’s only able to draw for just a few more moments before he sits back again. “What am I doing wrong…? Akira, I want you to--” But Akira is already unbuttoning his shirt before he can even tell him to - slowly, oh, so painfully slow - fingers caressing each button as he does so, almost  _ salaciously _ . And suddenly, Yusuke’s mouth is feeling a bit dry.

“Like this?” Akira asks, as he fingers another button. Yusuke nods, nearly unable to speak, and if this was a game, Akira had stolen the winning hand the third button down. But no - this was for his art piece, there is no -  _ should be no  _ \- room for distraction, after all, this was why he called Akira over. This was why Akira was here. This was why--

Yusuke snaps his pencil, a clean break. Even he is surprised.

“I’m -- I’m sorry.” He manages, swallowing a lump in his throat that didn’t want to go down. “I’m feeling… frustrated.” 

“At the art block?” Akira asks, with such a sickly sweet faux-innocence that Yusuke does a double take.

“...Yes, at the art block.” He rummages through his supplies to pull out another pencil. This was for _art_ , and not to entertain the improper, wicked thoughts that plague him every time he meets Akira’s gaze, every time Akira says his name, touches his skin, arches his back on his bed _in the name of art,_ half-clothed and waiting for Yusuke to instruct him on what to do next.

He’s certainly seen his fair share of attractive and near-nude models, and he’s painted even more. As an artist, the separation between art and sex came naturally to him, but somehow, Akira was different. His muscles pull shirt fabric taut with every flex, hair tousled in just the right way, framing his expression, lax and seductive. And he was so  _ flexible _ ; every curve of his body, every arch of his back, every strand of hair in such perfect silk strands, lips such a supple -- Oh...He was getting distracted. But such physique--! He shakes his head, a bit more violently this time.

But Akira knows. Akira knew a long time ago. And Yusuke was playing right into his hand. 

Yusuke clears his throat. “Akira, could you tug down your shirt from your shoulders just a bit?” Akira does, but Yusuke isn’t satisfied. “No, not like that. A little more.” He’s frustrated, and it shows in the tone of his voice; it’d been so long since he was able to paint anything satisfactory, like his very passion had vanished, and all of his previous attempts were fruitless. But he isn’t ready to give up yet, because he knows Akira - knows that he will help, and at the very least, Yusuke trusts his own belief in him. Life had already been quite different since his introduction, after all. Between Madarame and the Phantom Thieves, Mementos and Palaces and Shadows… If even the seemingly impossible isn’t enough for him to find his inspiration, then perhaps the common link will be. 

But in the end, perhaps it was all the same to him. “Would you pull the collar of your shirt to angle it towards me?” He huffs when Akira doesn’t quite adjust it to his liking and gets up, voice frustrated as he makes his way over towards his model. “No, more like… Like this.” He yanks Akira’s shirt collar down to drape down his shoulder, with a lot more force than he’d intended, exposing the smooth skin of Akira’s neck. And Yusuke’s mouth runs dry once again - parched, really - the overwhelming urge to do something he doesn’t quite yet want to acknowledge rising up inside him. He must have made some sort of sound - some sort of pathetic, needy, whimper -  because Akira is asking him if he’s alright, and Yusuke doesn’t actually have an answer. “I need you to…” He trails off, fingers trailing down to find Akira’s accursed shirt buttons. He clears his throat. “Just one more… for the composition.” Akira shifts - whether accidentally or entirely on purpose, Yusuke doesn’t know - and the way his shirt opens up just right to gather around his shoulders has Yusuke shivering, biting his bottom lip before he can even realize it. 

Perhaps something switches on in Akira’s head, or perhaps he knew this would happen all along, but Akira relaxes his pose - shifting to sit up on the bed, and meeting Yusuke’s gaze. “Maybe something else, then,” he says, standing to lean in closer towards Yusuke, until the artist feels hot breath against his lips. “Something different.” 

Yusuke’s hands return to the fabric of Akira’s shirt, gripping the edges until his knuckles turn white, “I just need to get the right angle,” he replies, voice almost trembling at the proximity. Akira watches the way Yusuke’s eyes flit to his lips, then his eyes, then back at his lips once more, and when Akira smirks, the self control is nearly gone. Yusuke is tugging Akira’s shirt farther down before he can stop himself, but luckily, Akira does, placing his hands on Yusuke’s forearms. “Oh--,” he tries, almost successfully snapping out of it, but not quite. “The art block, it’s just--”

“This isn’t a fair trade,” Akira says, tilting his head with a sly smile, clever and knowing, “You’re wearing far too many clothes.” And before Yusuke can respond, Akira’s hands are on the closure of his pants, toying with the button there, running his thumb along its outer edges.

And Yusuke does the exact thing he begged himself not to do. 

He gives in - Yusuke pulls Akira in by his shirt, crushing their lips together in an eager kiss, and Akira wastes no time pushing him back and pinning him against the wall. Akira tosses his jacket onto the ground and nearly rips his own shirt off before deciding it wasn’t getting in the way, so he lets it drape off his arms as deft hands work open the buttons on Yusuke’s shirt. He has Yusuke’s back against the wall, kissing him hastily, like he’d been waiting for this moment for so long and finally,  _ finally _ , he has it - a panting, pleasantly aroused Yusuke holding him by the back of his head just to keep him steady while they kiss and grind their hips together desperately. 

Akira pulls away briefly, only to quickly marvel in his success at the sight of a pink-lipped, needy Yusuke, before catching his lips once more just as a sly smirk forms on his own. Yusuke feels it curl against his mouth, nearly sees the thoughts forming in his mind from just the glimmer in his eyes alone. Akira trails kisses across his cheeks, grazing along his jawline, and tilts Yusuke’s head to the side, promptly sinking his teeth into the revealed soft, tender skin of his neck. He grinds against him - once as he licks and sucks a dark red mark at the base of his neck; again as he makes another just the slightest bit above it. He drags his tongue across his marks before biting down again, kissing and licking and sucking, peppering his skin with darkening lovebites. And Yusuke  _ moans _ , knocks his head back at the first bite, feeling the shiver shoot down his spine and into his hardening erection - one hand combing through Akira’s hair and tugging at it in a silent urging for more, the other digging his nails into Akira’s back at every bite, a sensation that only adds to the tension in his pants. 

Akira pulls away, satisfied to see hickeys glistening with saliva on Yusuke’s neck. He’s about to open his mouth to speak, to tease the artist, but Yusuke is faster. He catches Akira’s lips in another kiss, forcing him back to him again, hands gliding down Akira’s sides to grab at his hips. Akira grabs his wrists and pins them above his head, grinding against him once more, feeling smug when he feels that bulge in Yusuke’s pants. Akira kisses him with more fervor than before, kissing at his lips and his tongue and dragging teeth across tender skin, sucking and nipping and biting just hard enough to playfully tug at his bottom lip. Yusuke exhales against him, breath mingling with his, arms tugging against the grip above his head.

“Use me as your canvas, Yusuke.” Akira dips down, lips trailing across Yusuke’s cheek, voice low in his ear. “I want you to use me, just like that.” And Yusuke is on him the very second Akira lets go of his arms, licking and biting down immediately on soft skin - perhaps a bit too hard in his excitement, but Akira doesn’t seem to mind. Yusuke trails a series of lovebites down Akira’s neck and across his shoulder, pulling him in closer to him with the remains of his shirt that was now dangling off his arms. Akira’s breath hitches at the feeling of Yusuke’s teeth against his skin, and even moreso when Yusuke’s hands trail downward, beginning to palm Akira through the fabric of his pants. Yusuke pulls back to look at his handiwork, and indeed, various lovebites of all shapes and sizes color Akira’s neck and shoulders, a mingling of reds and purples bold against creamy skin, and Yusuke needs more. 

He doesn’t have long to admire, though, because Akira’s hands dive down to push his pants, boxers and all, down to his thighs - unable to help himself after Yusuke’s teasing palm - and guides his hand over to close around his erection instead. Yusuke does, but not before poking and running his thumb along the tip, earning a nice sigh from Akira. Heart pounding in his chest, Yusuke pushes him backwards towards the bed and once Akira is seated, gets over him, trailing more bites and kisses down his body, pumping his cock as he does so. He bites and nips at soft skin as his mouth travels down, leaving a scattered trail of hickeys going down across his neck, his chest, his stomach, trailing down to the tender skin of his inner thighs. Akira gasps when Yusuke’s teeth sink into his right thigh, hand darting down to rake fingers through blue hair, and then after a moment of inexperienced hesitation, Yusuke takes him into his mouth. 

Akira combs through Yusuke’s hair with his fingers, watching the artist’s head bob up and down at a slow pace. Yusuke was by no means the  _ best  _ as he was right now - in fact Akira didn’t even expect this from him yet - but watching him try was endearing. And when it  _ did _ feel good,  _ it felt good _ , and Yusuke quickly learns what Akira likes with every shaky grip in his hair (and, of course, what he  _ didn’t _ like, unfortunately, with every choked sound at the back of his throat).

“Yusuke, I really--” Akira pants, “I really want--”

“Okay,” Yusuke interrupts, like he knew they were on the same page and even asking permission was just delaying the gratification. Yusuke stands and pulls off his pants, tossing them away as Akira does the same and yanks a mostly-full bottle of lube out of his dresser before climbing on the bed. Akira wastes no time stroking Yusuke’s erection and positioning his hips such a way that he can easily push a lubed finger inside of him. Yusuke lets out a small whimper at the feeling of someone else’s fingers inside him -- he’s experimented with himself a few times before, but his past adventures don’t compare at all to the sensation of Akira inside and working him open. He spreads his legs so Akira has easy access to stretch him out, and eventually Akira slips another one inside.

“Is this okay?” Akira asks, and Yusuke nods -- the feeling isn’t new but somehow so much more foreign than anything he’s tried before, and Yusuke finds he actually quite enjoys it more than his own fingers once he’s gotten used to it. Such pleasure should certainly help the feeling and emotion in his art after all, he thinks, but  _ god _ \- he throws his head back at the realization that this was absolutely, undeniably, without a doubt, no longer about his art block.

“Um,” Akira pauses, realizing he has to break the mood. “Should we use a...condom?”

“What?” Yusuke looks up at him, “A condom? Oh, I… hadn’t considered…”

“I just mean,” Akira swallows a sudden lump in his throat. “I’ve… seen it on, um,” He hesitates, stammering slightly, “They sometimes use it in porn… that I sometimes, maybe watch. Occasionally. So…”

Yusuke blinks up at him, not really sure what to say because he has no idea either. A part of him expected Akira to already be familiar with this sort of thing, with how well he took charge earlier. Yusuke was not only successfully seduced, but also thoroughly convinced Akira totally knew what he was doing. A silence falls between them, as Akira waits for Yusuke’s answer, and as Yusuke tries to think. Finally, a small, “...I...suppose so?”

It was clear then that neither of them really knew what they were doing and until that moment were driven purely by sexual tension alone. Akira gets up to fish out the stray condoms he kept in his bag (you never know…), and with shaky hands he rips open the wrapper and fumbles it onto to his erection. Yusuke waits impatiently, legs still spread on the bed, hoping Akira hurries up before his own thoughts catch up with him. Before they can get too embarrassed, though, Akira finally manages to get the condom on properly and returns to his position over Yusuke. 

“Let’s try this again.” Akira says, resuming his previous exploration of Yusuke’s body with his hands, lips, and teeth. There’s a bright blush on Yusuke’s cheeks when he nods, hands trying to find their place on Akira’s body, breath caught in his throat when Akira’s hand strays too close to his erection. He exhales in short gasps when Akira’s fingers close around it, stroking him languidly at first, before increasing his pace, until Yusuke has to stop him before he reaches his limit too soon. 

Neither of them can take the anticipation any longer, and Yusuke feels like he can take it, so Akira strokes himself up with lube and positions himself to push in (from behind, as Yusuke had said he’d read in a magazine how this was the easiest way to do it). In their excitement, there is only the smallest bit of pain upon entry, but it’s mostly a harmless discomfort from the stretch, and Yusuke knows if they were at all interested in taking their time it wouldn’t be as bad, so he doesn’t mind. Akira enters him slowly - as slow as he can possibly manage, grip digging into Yusuke’s hips to hold him there. Yusuke’s legs tremble, and when he’s used to having Akira inside him, pushes back against it, meeting Akira’s slow thrusts, biting his lip at the feeling. Yusuke feels full, legs trembling, nearly about to bite the pillow underneath him when Akira starts to move faster. He nods when Akira asks if he’s alright, and pushes back to meet his rhythm.

“More... “ he manages, when Akira strokes him, and there’s a moment where Yusuke feels like he could finish right there and then if he let himself. Akira feels him tighten, and then drags his nails down the length of Yusuke’s back. Yusuke arches - so intensely he sits up on his knees and presses his back against Akira’s front, unbidden breathy moans escaping his lips with every movement of Akira’s hips. Akira continues to thrust into him, hand gliding down Yusuke’s body, toying with his nipples as Yusuke throws his head back. Akira’s teeth sink into Yusuke’s shoulder, nails digging into his hips, his other hand continuing to pump Yusuke. Akira shoves him back down, hand snaking through Yusuke’s hair, combing through it before grabbing a fistful to keep him down. Yusuke groans at the pull, bites his lip and clenches his fist around the sheets because it’s shocking to him how much he loves it, loves it so much more than he’d ever imagined he could. It wasn’t quite how he’d envisioned this to go -- at all, really -- but in the moment it’s all he can even think about, and his body craves more, and more, and more. As Akira begins to really pound into him, Yusuke sees stars behind his eyelids with every thrust, little bright specks of light sparkling and bursting every time Akira’s hips push against him. “A-Akira,” he manages, breath unsteady. He hears Akira huff from behind him, so he looks back. “Please, let me turn around.” Akira doesn’t fight him, and shifts back to let Yusuke lay on his back, shoving a pillow beneath his hips.

Yusuke digs his nails into Akira’s shoulders when they resume in their new position, leaving small little half-moon indents when he starts to scratch down the length of Akira’s back with one long drag, legs wrapped around Akira’s waist, breath hot against his ear. His teeth return to the soft skin of Akira’s neck in an attempt to suppress a loud moan, biting in between his last marks before his head falls back to catch Akira’s lips, panting into his mouth and barely able to hold a steady kiss for very long before he’s groaning and gasping all over again. 

He feels it in the depths of his stomach with every thrust, every bite, every sensation that shoots like electricity through all of his limbs. And before Yusuke can even register it, he’s coming with such intensity his mind goes blank, back arching, hand milking out the last of his orgasm, painting his torso. Akira isn’t long after, with sporadic thrusts and another loud, stifled moan, he finishes - eyes shut tight, lips parted, beads of sweat running from his brow, nails dragging pink lines down Yusuke’s waist. Yusuke watches him in his post-orgasmic haze, the little sparkles of light from behind his eyes dotting Akira’s face here and there, a line of sweat runs down the side of his face, the picturesque juxtaposition of red lovebites and creamy skin...

And then Yusuke’s eyes widen, like he’d come to a sudden conclusion for a problem he’d been trying to solve for ages. 

That was _ it _ .

Akira is just about to lean down and catch Yusuke’s lips once again, to ride out the afterglow of orgasm, rocking his hips once or twice against him. But Yusuke pushes him back with a loud, “Wait! That’s it!” He shoves him away with all his force until Akira pulls out -- and he leaps out of bed and straight for his canvas. He’s still trying to catch his breath, grabbing his discarded paint supplies and tossing them back in place once again.

“Yes, yes that’s  _ it _ !” He cries, buck naked and sweating and squeezing paint tubes onto his palette. “That’s exactly it!”

“What?” Akira lazily rolls to his side, legs hanging off the bed, watching his lover ignore him for art. “What happened?”

“As always your efforts have succeeded,” Yusuke’s brush strokes are fast and heated, “You’ve found -- nay --  _ become _ my missing inspiration.”

“But what about--” Akira sits up, lips furling in a pout. Ah well - sure, he relished the chance to sleep with Yusuke, but he also knows how much Yusuke loves his art. And he loves Yusuke, so... that’s really all that should matter in the end. If Yusuke is happy, then by all means, Akira has done his job.

“Oh, but what shall I title it?” Yusuke taps his chin thoughtfully, “Perhaps, ‘ _ A Trickster in the Throes of Passion, _ ’ or ‘ _ The Joker’s Concupiscence _ !’”

“What? Wait-- no, what are you painting-- Yusuke, you are  _ not  _ drawing that. Yusuke!  _ Yusuke _ !!”    
  


**Author's Note:**

> gdi i love shukita


End file.
